peppermint bacon
by Flashing The Floods
Summary: Nathaniel groggily emerges from an exceptionally black sleep only to discover that he's dying. Implied LysNate. Ambiguity. Shamrock crap.


**Author's Note: Well...I have an overdue request to work on. And very dusty things here in my docs slowly dying of old age. And this thing I never finished as recently as Femslash February. But it's St. Patrick's day. And I'm going to be hungover tomorrow. I'm so behind on this game it's not even funny. But I've seen summaries and whatnot. So here's some shamrock flavored crap!**

 **And yes, it is crap. I'm really uncomfortable when people tell me otherwise. I am self-aware, I also find it suitable to warn for poor quality, and the internet is chock full of crap so it is a fairly appropriate place to store mine. So peeps leaving comments telling me not to call it that for whatever reason can stop doing that, thanks.**

* * *

Nathaniel groggily emerges from an exceptionally black sleep only to discover that he's dying. He has to be dying. His brain feels like it's going to balloon out of his skull and an invisible fist clenches around his stomach. He briefly considers his father in passing and then opens his eyes only to be assaulted by the vicious sunlight streaming in through the window. He groans and shuts them again.

"Good afternoon, party animal."

Nathaniel startles, snapping upright and sputtering as his stomach sloshes painfully. He's not alone. He looks to the other occupant in the living room he's belatedly realized isn't his at all.

"Sorry," Lysander tells him, closing the book in his hands. "I didn't mean to surprise you."

"Uh," is Nathaniel's eloquent response. He vainly pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a closer look at his surroundings. Lysander's dressed neat and proper in the brown barrel chair he definitely doesn't recognize. He's not nearly as put together himself. He's shirtless in yesterday's jeans, one sock on and another missing. "Where...?"

"My apartment," Lysander says softly. "I don't suppose you remember Leigh picking us up last night?"

"Last night," Nathaniel repeats nebulously. When had that been, exactly? Trying to place it makes his headache worse. A few images come back to him but they're foggy and intangible.

"I suppose I shouldn't have expected you to." Lysander chuckles as he gets up. He walks around to the unfamiliar kitchen and deftly plucks a glass from the cabinet, filling it from the tap. "What is the last thing you remember, Nathaniel?"

Nathaniel massages his temples with an uncertain shrug, trying to pull some solid memory out of his aching head. Lysander winds his way around and gently nudges his wrist with the glass. Nathaniel accepts it gratefully and takes a slow sip. He's terribly thirsty but gulping it down won't do his stomach any good.

"I remember drinking...And a goat?"

"That's a start," Lysander praises. He takes the glass without prompting and sets it on the table. "You're not good with alcohol, are you?"

Nathaniel has no clue how long last night lasted or what took place. He has no idea why he's with Lysander of all people and the yawning loss of memory is growing more disturbing the more awake he becomes. He thinks of his father again, this time less passively. An icicle jabs the already writhing mess of his stomach.

"Did I start a fight?" _Did I hurt anyone?_ He means.

"Oh no," Lysander says quickly, shaking his head. "Nothing like that. Actually, you were rather affectionate."

"Affectionate?"

"Yes." A humored kind of smile quirks Lysander's lips. "You slammed every short Laeti put in front of you. I don't think anyone knows why you decided you didn't need your shirt anymore but in any case, I complimented your physique. You...Definitely appreciated the sentiment."

Lysander's blushing now. Nathaniel feels his own face warm and nervously scratches his cheek. He isn't sure he wants to know. Well, he _does_ want to know. But he's sure whatever Lysander means by that is going to absolutely mortify him and Nathaniel can't handle that five minutes into waking up hungover.

"I'm sorry for causing you trouble," he awkwardly apologizes.

Lysander waves his hand. "You didn't. I was endeared until you started throwing up and that was more worrying than any kind of hassle. How are you feeling now?"

This is surreal. Nathaniel sweeps a hand back through his hair, fingers finding something sticky, and scrunches his nose. He has no recollection of throwing up whatsoever. The way his stomach's twisted up now though, there's probably going to be an encore. He considers for just a moment gathering himself up, thanking Lysander politely and then leaving with whatever dignity he can manage to scrape up before that happens.

But what dignity would that be? He only has one sock.

"Bad," he admits, closing his eyes.

"You should drink the rest of the water," Lysander says. "Then lie back down if you need to. No one's here but me."

"I should go feed my cat." Nathaniel opens his eyes again and intends to stand.

Standing doesn't happen. Lysander reaches over and gently pushes Nathaniel back to the couch. He pulls the throw blanket up to Nathaniel's shoulders and even pats down some of the wrinkles and wow, this is definitely the most physical contact they've ever had. The longer part of his hair is nearly close enough to tickle Nathaniel's face.

"I'll get you something to eat yourself before you go do that."

Food sounds like the worst thing right now and Nathaniel swallows back another groan, feeling his stomach tighten at the mere thought.

"That isn't necessary," he says. "Thank you for offering. Thank you for all of this."

"I don't mind," Lysander murmurs as he sits back in his own chair. And then, even softer. "You made me smile."

Nathaniel ponders what that could mean and tiredly tries to piece together an answer with the fuzzy blips he does recall. It's a useless effort and his night is still a mystery. He supposes he'll have enough stamina to ask after another nap...


End file.
